I'm bald

Again. Third time in the last 10 years. Second time in the last two.

My friend told me it’s not 100%. The nurses told me, too. But still, it was worth giving it a try. 

But now I’m bald again. Baldie, baldie, as the youngsters joke. Walter White. Or Achim Lauritzen, people from my generation and above may remember him. Bowling ball. 

The ball effect is enhanced by the 10 extra kgs that got on me as a result of the steroids. Those were necessary so that I can take chemo. So in order to stay alive, I need to be fat. And ugly. 

I have no uterus, it had to be taken out so that my life could be saved.

My beauty and my femininity is the price I had to pay so that I won’t die.

Of course I can see the silver lining. The possibility that I can be here is already a miracle. Not one miracle, many of them. It is true. And I’m inexpressibly grateful.

But I’m tired.

Of the whole journey.

And also by explaining myself that the sky is always blue above the clouds. And that every cloud has a silver lining. And that the curtain is beautiful.

Even though my sister said I was right.

When we were in France on our most memorable vacation, we got into a difficult situation. Our money and camera got stolen. When we were running around town trying to find some solution, we passed by an interior design studio, and I told my sister “look at that beautiful curtain!” She, understandably, got angry that I talked about beautiful curtains when we would very soon have nowhere to sleep. I told her that especially because the situation is difficult, we need to see the beauty that surrounds us.

That’s what I did all my life. Focusing on good to make it stronger, painting everything pink, as that’s part of reality too. Seeing the good side of events, people, everything. Denying the bad sides, marvelling about the beauty of the flowing of red flags, looking at them colour blindly. Closing my eyes from anything negative, sweeping it under the rug until I trip from the bump in the middle of the room. Keeping the peace, concentrating on the positive. In other worlds, to put my head in the ground like an ostrich. It doesn’t help, but at least we are unaware of what’s happening.

At the last chemo session of the first set, 10 years ago with the help of a psychologist I could finally state that facing the fact that something (or somebody) is less than perfect is not negativity, not strengthening the bad side, but the only chance to make it better.

And five years ago, the last time I spoke to my sister in this world, she told me that I was right about the curtain - and I told her she was right about facing the problems and expressing our rightful anger about them.

This is what I’m doing now. If I was still explaining myself how good it is, I would simply follow the pattern that made me put up with things that were becoming more and more unbearable. Like I did all my life. I was silencing my soul. No wonder she had to message my body, to make me realise what was going on.

It’s over now. If I feel bad, I feel bad. There’s a reason. Looking terrible is a bad feeling. (I know many people wear bigger sizes, but for me being this big is traumatising.) Going bald is awful, too. Second time in 2 years, 3rd time in 10 years doesn’t make it better. Going through 6 sets of chemotherapy the third time, having 3 allergic reactions and countless side effects aren’t fun either. Having a 9 hour operation, losing uterus, ovaries, bile and spleen is a difficult thing, too. I’m listening to my soul expressing her negative feelings about the experiences of the past half year. The operation was exactly half a year ago…

And it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful. It doesn’t mean I don’t consider all this, and everything before wonderful miracles, generous expressions of God’s unconditional love and mercy. It doesn’t mean I forgot chemo is the water of life. I do. I understand and remember all that and I know what a great privilege is to be alive. No matter the kgs. 

Understand, remember, know… all of that is on the field of the mind. I’m not denying it.

But I’m adding something to it. Now I’m not only listening to my mind, but to my heart and soul, too. I feel if something hurts and I express it. I’m not going to silence my soul anymore.

And near the longest night, what I felt was some kind of a relief. I was listening to my soul, to my feelings. I admitted that I feel bad, sad and broken and ugly. I felt I lost my femininity and beauty. 

And as I wasn’t tiring myself with placing my mind over my soul and denying the importance of my feelings. I just felt relieved. It’s like this now. Life is ever changing. Now I’m extra large, this is how I am today. I have no hair, but already after only a week of giving up and shaving my head, I now have some millimetres on it. Everything is in constant movement. Tomorrow can always bring something new. 

I felt light (despite my kgs). 

I didn’t have to hold it together. I finally allowed myself to be upset and I didn’t have to calm myself. Not the way I did all the time, denying my feelings and explaining everything rationally. Not this time. 

I listened to my soul and told her “it’s alright. It’s perfectly fine you feel that way. What you went through was really too much.” 

And as it was allowed and acknowledged, the sadness started to leave my soul. 

This is where I am now. I may not be beautiful and happy all the time and that's alright. I'm not the statue of positivity. I'm not smiling, saying everything is fine with my face red from the cold. (BTW that wasn't very beautiful either.)

I'm here, more emphatically than ever before. I'm grateful, sad, loving, upset, tired, trying hard, failing, giving up, enthusiastic. 

I'm alive.